


Starswept

by LikeSatellites, ScarlettSiren



Category: ATEEZ (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Character(s), Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, Alien Technology, Alien/Human Relationships, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Space, Atypical Monarchy, Environmentalism, Far Future, Interplanetary Travel, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sex Work, Space Politics, Wooyoung is an Alien Prince, Yeosang is a Scientist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24808159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LikeSatellites/pseuds/LikeSatellites, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettSiren/pseuds/ScarlettSiren
Summary: Starswept...it’s a phrase that had been coined by some of the early interplanetary ambassadors to describe the often overwhelming emotions one feels when first visiting a new planet. Oftimes they found themselves staring into the distance toward a foreign horizon, awed by the sight of twin moons or planetary rings or the proximity of stars. But Yeosang isn’t looking at the horizon. He is looking at Wooyoung as he sits on the edge of the veranda, a shadowed silhouette against the boundary of ambiguous lines ebbing in a myriad of colors across a sapphire sky, and he thinks of how—in all the universe—he has never met another like him, and probably never will again.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Song Mingi, Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa, Kim Jonghyun/Kim Kibum | Key, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 16
Kudos: 51





	Starswept

**Author's Note:**

> SS: Wow. So, Becca and I have been holding onto this fic for.... nearly 2 years now. It started in a different fandom, but as we both shifted into focusing on Ateez, we decided to gut the whole thing and rewrite it for them. I had to completely reinvent everything to do with the main alien race since it had to do with specific songs, but the changes fit perfectly into the world we'd conceptualized.
> 
> A note about Jonghyun: I know some people are still sensitive about his passing. I understand it well, since SHINee was my first ult group and first live concert. His character in this fic is sort of my tribute to him. I wanted to write him every bit the angelic man I knew him to be, and immortalize him in some small way in this story. I can promise you that although this story may light upon some serious topics, there will be no death or violence at all in this fic.

**_Aurora Mission, Day 0_ **

Yeosang’s fingertips titter nervously at the edges of the arms of his seat. He’s harnessed in, and it’s hardly his first experience with interplanetary travel, but landings have never failed to make him anxious. He’s spent plenty of time in ships just like these...sometimes ships far less equipped, far less funded. Being on the government’s payroll now at least puts him somewhat at ease; knowing that this ship wasn’t cobbled together with the vestiges of a shoestring budget, the last pennies of a too-small grant. Those had been his early days of research, before he’d made a name for himself...before he’d delivered lifesaving—no— _planet-saving_ technology to those who needed it most. Now there are countless governments across endless galaxies clambering for him. He could have a fleet of a hundred ships made of the finest materials if he really wanted it, with all the safety features money could afford. He doubts it would put him any more at ease, though.

The ship jolts as they exit hyperspace, and he clenches down hard on the metal and leather under his palms. He’d spent the trip watching holovids about the planet he’s visiting; basics on the people, currency, language and the barest of social mores so he doesn’t make a complete idiot of himself, but now he’s got nothing to distract himself from the jarring sensation of leaving hyperspace and entering a foreign atmosphere. He’s spent the past year learning about the planet itself: the environment, its flora and fauna, the atmospheric composition...all things he had studied from a scientific perspective throughout his research. But it never prepares him for the real thing, for truly being on a new planet, in unfamiliar territory. Aurora was just that for him: unfamiliar.

Aurora, of course, is just the human way of referring to the planet. The native species, called Aurorans, speak in a language like song, in frequencies and pitches impossible for humans to replicate. The native pronunciation of their planet’s name is, therefore, _unpronounceable_ for virtually every other known species, and so it became _Aurora_.

The planet is tucked away in one of the outer quadrants, just within the fringes of the habitable zone of a blue giant star which acts as its sun. Surrounded for light years by lifeless planets, and having twin moons made of silver, it seems almost a hidden treasure within the discovered universe. It earns its name from the displays of colorful light that streak across its sky much more frequently and widespread than the same such phenomena on Earth. 

The people he knows only by one or two meetings on Earth...he thinks a Auroran ambassador was sent some months ago, but he only met him in passing. Aurorans are incredibly human-like, considering the great diversity of the universe. They are humanoid, with the same extremities and even similar internal structures, but their gender binary is far less rigid (both physically and socially, from Yeosang’s understanding) and their skintones range beyond those found on Earth. Some Aurorans are said to have skin that shimmers like glittering gems, in pale hues of purple and blue and gold.

He doesn’t trouble himself with a lot of the cultural aspects, however, so that’s about all he knows regarding Aurorans. He, admittedly, should have learned his lesson from several bad interactions during previous missions, stemming from a lack of cultural knowledge of his host planets. But Yeosang has a rule: while he always respects the planet’s people and their traditions, he blatantly remains ignorant of them solely for the purpose of his work. Science cannot progress if the response to change is an insistence on following outdated, problematic and often damaging beliefs. It’s how the Earth got to the way that it is...polluted and over-populated and drained...and he refuses to let other planets make the same mistakes.

He cannot stand to look into the eyes of a planet’s leaders, lay solutions to their crises at their feet, and have them tell him, “but it has always been this way.”

Aurora, however, isn’t a dying planet. He is here more so for prevention. ‘A planet which adapts is a planet which thrives’; this is in an opening paragraph in Yeosang’s first book, and he has never once seen evidence to the contrary.

Now, with his erratic heart palpitations subsiding mere minutes after the first jolt of turbulence, Yeosang is striding out the cabin door like he’s arriving for just a short day trip. It won’t be so brief, of course; he tends to spend what’s equivalent to around one-to-three Earth-years on any given planet while he works with their leaders and scientists. Still, he cannot help but think just how far technology has come...he dwells upon it often; how humanity once struggled to shape the wheel, and now humanity traverses the stars.

He almost trips on the gangplank while fiddling with his earpiece, fumbling and nearly dropping it. He finally gets it in just as he reaches the inner bay doors. The royals, ambassadors and attendants will likely have already assimilated Korean for his benefit, but he likes to have the translator on-hand in case anyone he comes across is still speaking native Auroran.

Royals, because Aurora is run by a monarchy...sort of. It’s nothing like what they have on Earth, or any other planet for that matter. Yeosang has dealt with royals before, across several galaxies...some better than others. Aurora’s royal line is less a birthright than a pseudo-voluntary duty, and as he understands it, the people have sway as well. The king still has ultimate power, appoints all officials and has the final say on all issues. Shockingly, Yeosang has read nothing of major wars in the planet’s history, but that did not mean there hadn’t been any. It wasn’t uncommon for him to come across places where histories were largely forged. He had once been to a planet where the soil was still damaged from a nuclear fallout from centuries before, which the new population was entirely unaware of. They had been hesitant to accept his findings, but that isn’t something that Yeosang ever lets bother him.

He trusts in science. Science is reliable. It changes, it can surprise you...but it is rooted firmly in the factual. Science tells him the truth, even when aliens across all corners of the universe would look him in the eye and lie right to his face.

The aliens who greet him in the ship bay are all obscenely beautiful. Even the common workers have a certain universally attractive air to them. They are of varying heights, shapes and gender presentations, but their features are all...pretty. It’s the only way Yeosang can think to describe it. An Auroran who may be the most gorgeous humanoid he’s ever seen catches his gaze across the room, and his eyes light up. He smiles genially as he moves forward to meet him, and he realizes too late that it is the king.

 _The Auroran king_ had come to meet him, personally. Certainly one of the warmest welcomes he’s ever received.

Before he can bow, his hand is pulled into a firm handshake by both of the king’s own. Yeosang stands stunned for several seconds, a little culture-shocked. The king is even more dazzling up close: his skin gives off a golden shimmer, most prominent at the curves of his high cheeks and nose. He has regal eyes, mono-lidded similar to his own, which takes him aback. His hair is bright silver, worn long with only the front portions pulled back in complex braids. He knows him as the king only by the elaborate markings across his forehead, scrolling elegantly just beneath his hairline: such is the mark of the highest royal position on Aurora. His clothing is regal, but not particularly opulent, given how the others around him are dressed. Only the mark shows him for who he truly is.

“Welcome to Aurora, Kang Yeosang,” he says, and his voice is deep but eerily melodic. “We are truly honored to have you here.”

There are several things he’s never prepared for when he takes on a mission like this, and genuine kindness from a planet’s most influential ruler is certainly one of them.

Yeosang isn’t used to being _considered_.

That is, he is not used to the governments he is working for being _considerate of him_. He has, more than once, been ushered immediately into critical council meetings upon landing, sometimes with such urgency that he often wonders bitterly if he simply should have been haphazardly airdropped right from his ship into the conference.

When he says this to the king, he does not laugh. Instead, he blinks and offers a confused sort of grin, cocks his head and says, “What a ridiculous notion. How can you possibly help Aurora if you do not _know_ her?”

Yeosang is inclined to agree, and he immediately decides the king is someone who is deserving of ample respect.

The king doesn’t question him about himself or his journey or his work, nor does he attempt to impart too much information as though he were a tourist taking in an alien planet with rapt interest. The king merely walks with him through the expansive loading bay until he leads him out into the open air. He realizes then that this was the palace’s personal docking station, as the structure looming before them _surely_ must belong to the king himself.

It’s a glorious, sprawling alcazar made of some kind of rough, deep-gray stone, smooth at the corners with age. The sky above them is painted with only the barest wisps of clouds, the light of their unique sun casting everything in a faintly-bluish glow. Aurora is much farther away from its blue star than Earth is to its yellow sun, and it looks like nothing more than a tiny azure dot glowing near the horizon. His projected arrival time of early morning seems to have been accurate, and the weather is incredibly pleasant. Yeosang already feels a bit different breathing their air: while it’s incredibly close to Earth’s atmosphere compositionally, the nitrogen and oxygen ratios are a little less skewed here, and he immediately notices. It won’t harm him to breathe it...in fact, it will just make each breath more efficient. Aurorans’ bodies actually utilize nitrogen; it’s one of the few differences between them and humans biologically, but their atmosphere is conducive to humans as well.

Yeosang can’t help but notice several things as they walk through winding stone halls dripping with viney plants blooming with deep red flowers. The first is that, despite the architectural beauty of the palace, there isn’t anything particularly opulent about it. No gold or silver inlays, no jeweled pottery, no elaborate tapestries. The second is that, while the palace appears to go on and on as far as he could see, the grounds themselves did not seem to be private. He spots children playing in the water gardens, adolescent Aurorans laid out upon blankets in the turquoise grass writing in their notebooks, elders sitting on stone benches reading or watching the youth. It almost seems as though the palace is a public place, like the ancient temples and castles of long-dead dynasties back on Earth...except the royals still live here, and share their home with their people.

The king finally speaks once they reach what appears to be the inner circle of the palace. There’s a courtyard at the center which seems much more private; very few people are milling about here, as opposed to in the outer gardens. They take a left, past a large fountain, and step out onto a wide veranda overlooking what must be the royal city. It spreads out as far as the eye can see, until the bases of massive mountains meet it at the horizon. Momentarily, Yeosang is awed. Beneath the overlook, there is a massive square where market stalls are set up and people move about...business as usual, he presumes. It seems the kind of place that would only be utilized for speeches or special events, but this appears to be an ordinary practice for Aurorans.

“I presume it will take you some time to set up your equipment and get to know the planet a little,” the king says in a kind tone, his gaze upon the township below. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to produce any results or report major findings for at least a full mooncycle. That’s twenty starcycles, if you aren’t familiar with our calendar.”

“Starcycles...are your days, yes?” Yeosang asks, feeling like he sounds a bit simple. He had read all this before, he’s just finding that his memory seems to be failing him in the face of the planet’s beauty.

“Yes, I’m familiar with the Earth terminology,” the king replies, smiling in amusement. “And five starcycles makes a...well, what you would call a ‘week’, on Earth. Our weeks are five ‘days’, and four ‘weeks’ makes a mooncycle, or ‘month’. Is that right? Month?”

“A month is our moon cycle, yes.” Yeosang answers.

“Month. Such a peculiar word in Earth English. I much prefer your native Earth Korean, I think,” the king says, grinning at him again. Someone behind them catches his eye, and he turns to greet the newcomer. “Ah, my love! You’ve done as I asked?”

“Everything is prepared, yes.” The man inclines his head. He’s another Auroran, with sharp eyes lined in dark makeup. His features are almost fox-like, his skin bearing an aqua shimmer at his cheeks and along the bridge of his nose.

“Kang Yeosang, this is...Kibum. That’s the closest equivalent to his name we could find in your native tongue. Though he prefers ‘Key’, which is quite similar to his Auroran name. He is my...hm. I suppose the closest word in your language is ‘consort’, but it isn’t quite right.” The king doesn’t seem too frustrated regardless, still offering a genial smile. “If ever you are in need of anything and I cannot be reached personally, please seek him in my stead. He will do all he can to make your stay here comfortable.”

“I’ve seen to your accommodations and meals. Nothing on our planet which is not toxic to us is toxic to Earth humans, so there wasn’t much to be done about the food. If there’s something you find doesn’t agree with your palate, however, please tell me right away so that I can inform the chefs,” Key tells him, not seeming at all perturbed by the notion.

“I’m not picky,” Yeosang assures. “Working on an interplanetary scale will certainly expand one’s horizons. I’d much rather be able to enjoy the local cuisine than be forced to live on freeze-dried rations.”

“You speak from experience,” the king says, and it’s flatly not a question.

“Oh, yes. I stayed on EXO for sixteen months through their agricultural technology-shift. Earth rations and artificial oxygen were my life, since the atmosphere and food were both toxic to humans. Not my favorite job, but their economy is much more sustainable now, so at least the mission was successful.” Yeosang grins then, remembering how grateful their leaders had been. Headstrong in the beginning, but they came around in the end.

The king watches his expression. “You take pride in your work.”

“I pride myself on being _successful_ ,” Yeosang corrects. “In many cases, it’s critical that I am...for the sake of a planet and its people.”

“Oftentimes a planet is in much more dire situations than ours,” the king guesses.

“Yes. I’m not the...only person, who does what I do. But I...did pioneer several of the technologies these teams utilize, so. I feel a certain responsibility when it comes to my work,” Yeosang explains. “Aurora is far from being in a critical stage. But if I don’t do my job here—”

“It could worsen,” the king says softly. He looks down for a moment before turning fully back to Yeosang. “Your burden is great. But don’t let the strain of it overwhelm you. Aurora is a planet like no other. As you take care of her, she will take care of you. You will see.”

“You told me to remind you not to worry him with talk of his work,” Key cuts in, his tone soft and a little chiding. The king lets out a hiss of frustration and shakes his head.

“My apologies. I did intend to keep your first day here completely devoid of stressors. I am truly a terrible host. Here, you must be starving. Shall we see what my love has had the chefs prepare for us?”

All the tension bleeds out of Yeosang. Expectations breed stress, but knowing that Aurora’s king understands just how human he is eases the worst of his worries. He nods, smiling, and follows the king and his consort to the dining hall.

It’s just the three of them. Yeosang is grateful he isn’t being paraded in front of councilmen and heads of state and dignitaries under the guise of relaxation. It gives him a chance to _actually_ relax. The food is incredible. Delicious in a way that things just aren’t anymore on Earth. For his benefit they refer to things as he would in his tongue: _meat_ and _fruits_ and _vegetables_. The king assures there aren’t equivalent words in any Earth languages that quite match the tonal meanings of Aurora’s terms for them, but that meats do come from Auroran animals and the rest are indeed from plants.

Briefly, the king speaks with one of the attendants in Auroran and Yeosang thinks it might be the most lovely thing he’s ever heard. The descriptions he’s come across, that Auroran sounds like wordless song, is accurate...but so over-simplified. The tones and modulations are unlike anything he’s ever heard on any planet. The king, specifically, speaks in a melodic sort of way and curls his notes up near his palate in a manner that the attendant does not, and his Auroran speech is so much higher-pitched than his Korean that it catches him off-guard. Yeosang likens it to a regional accent, but more personal...like an individual signature, or a lisp.

After dinner, Key leads the way to the wing of the castle where Yeosang will be staying. It’s near to the royal quarters, he’s told, but isolated enough that should he wish to work late into the night that he will not disturb anyone. The room has sleeping quarters that are walled in, but the common area leads out into a completely open-air veranda overlooking private gardens. Aurora’s blue sun hangs high above them now, but the weather is only a bit warmer for it. Yeosang thinks the days are shorter here...if hours were the measurement of time he utilized on this planet, he would estimate Aurora’s daylight lasted no more than ten. Shorter days, weeks and months...it made sense. He remembers reading their years were around two-hundred starcycles, or Auroran days. His tech would need some adjusting, but nothing he hadn’t had to do for other planets.

He notices his luggage is already stacked in neat piles near the bedroom entrance, and there are attendants down the hall rolling containers which he knows hold his portable workstations. The king helps him relay where he wants everything placed, having some of the furniture moved aside to create space. The room is elegantly decorated by any standards, but seems to prioritize comfort...there are large piles of pillows and soft fabrics draped along the ceiling. The lighting is gentle...too gentle for him to get any real work done until he puts his own lamps up.

Once everything is in, the king insists he should rest, and not to begin any kind of equipment setup until he’s had some time to get his bearings. He encourages Yeosang to take some time unpacking his personal things, making the room feel like home. He asks if there’s anything he can acquire for him to make him more comfortable, reiterates that he should ask him or Key if there is anything he ever needs. Almost immediately, he sends Key off on an errand to fetch him some more snacks for the evening, and Yeosang feels a little overwhelmed.

“Your Majesty, this really isn’t...I’m grateful, truly. But this is all so much—”

The king lets out a sound caught between shock and amusement, shaking his head. “Such titles aren’t necessary. Please.”

“I...on Earth, we…” Yeosang flounders. “What else am I to call you?”

“Mm. I struggled to find a name in your tongue. Such a homogenous country, with little variety in nomenclatures compared to many others on Earth. I thought of adopting a name from another culture which is closer in meaning or tone to my own, but out of respect for your lineage, I chose one common in your homeland.” The king grins at him, then, the tip of his index finger tracing his own chin thoughtfully. “You may call me Jonghyun.”

Yeosang just blinks, so overwhelmed that he simply feels numb. But the king, the king is so kind, and his smile so earnest, and even though it seems disrespectful through the lens of his own culture, he cannot help but nod and hope that respecting that wish is akin to respecting the man himself...this man who wears the highest title on his planet as though it is no great thing.

-O-

**_Aurora Mission, Day 3_ **

Yeosang takes a few days to set up his workstations, using his ship’s systems to communicate with his team in the meantime. He has a two-man squad back on Earth who will be on-call day and night to help him. He doesn’t envy them...because of the difference in the days and starcycles, the Earth time zones would be nearly impossible for him to schedule around all the way on Aurora. That means his team will be working around his schedule, however wildly it varies from Earth’s. They are being compensated well, however, and their workstations are set up with all the amenities of a real home. They had volunteered for the positions, so his assumption was that they did not have any immediate family or romantic attachments they were having to forsake in the meantime. The job, of course, only lasts as long as his mission, so they are only stuck in such living arrangements for a period of around one-to-three years. It is a long time to put a social life on hold, he supposes, but then again...isn’t he doing the same, only light-years from home?

“Aurora to Base. Aurora to Base. Are we live?” Yeosang asks his computer screen. The workstations are finally ready in his room, but the connection doesn’t seem to be as strong as the one on his ship. That is, until the video screen flares to life and he is staring at expressive, wide eyes and cheeks filled with food. The young man in the feed sucks down his noodles and nearly chokes.

“Sorry sir, Mingi and I were eating. Your signal is coming in clear.”

“Thank you, Jongho-ssi,” Yeosang says with a roll of his eyes. “Run a diagnostic on the connection from your side of things when you’re done with that. I just want to make sure we don’t have any hiccups before I have them put the ship in storage.”

“R-right! Yeah, I can...um. Do that, right now. Let me just…” Jongho starts typing so fast that his fingers look like a blur on the feed.

Another voice pipes up from off-screen, irritated. “Hey! No, not the—no, you have to run it from the other directory or else you’re just testing _our_ connection to the server! Just...just move, I’ll do it.”

“Sorry! I’ll just…” Jongho vacates the seat, and he is soon replaced with a slightly taller man with blazing red hair.

He types just as fast, eyes tracking over to the video screen with an almost manic laser-focus. “Where did you find this rookie, Yeosang? Pluck him out of preschool?”

“He graduated top of his class at the academy...and it’s his first job like this. Cut him a little slack, Mingi. He’s not a certified expert like you,” Yeosang teases. “Walk him through it. Your experience will be invaluable.”

Mingi pauses before letting out a long, low sigh. “Fine, okay. Here. This is the directory you’re looking for. If there’s ever an issue with connectivity, check that first.”

Jongho nods, face serious with focus, and it’s clear he’s listening and taking mental notes.

“So, Boss...how’s Aurora treating you so far?” Mingi asks, as the diagnostic runs in the background.

“Well. Too well, honestly. I’ve never been treated so hospitably,” Yeosang answers. “The king _...god,_ he wants me to call him by name. No titles. He didn’t throw me right into a meeting, just fed me a private meal with him and his consort, and he insisted I shouldn’t start working for at least a mooncycle. He’s so...nice.”

Mingi’s face contorts in confusion. “Sounds suspiciously nice. Maybe he’s grooming you for some massive favor later. Or for when you find his nukes.”

“Shut up, no one uses nukes anymore,” Yeosang scoffs, as though the notion is utterly ridiculous. “Besides, if this is him trying to earn my favor, it’s working. But my job gets done regardless...even if they treat me like garbage.”

“Hm, just don’t tell him that,” Mingi teases. Something blips on his screen and he looks it over. “Scan came back, everything’s clear. What’s your time over there? I want to set up a clock system here that can at least somewhat track your days so we can try to formulate some kind of schedule.”

“Uh...I’d say it’s about three Earth hours ‘til starset here,” Yeosang tells him, glancing at his digital watch. “I tracked the star-moon cycles at around ten Earth-hours each, giving us twenty hour Auroran days. So that’s going to skew the schedules pretty awfully for you guys. Drop an Earth GMT/UTC +9 clock into the shared server for me, since I always like to keep track of the time back home, and one at your default UTC as well, since that’s what the Lunar Base uses. I have my tech set for it here but you know how the hyperspace jump ruins the automatic time zone shifts. Once I have that, I’ll try my best not to disturb you both at all hours.”

“Eh, it’s what we signed up for,” Mingi replies with a resigned shrug. He types a bit and a standard twenty-four hour digital clock appears on Yeosang’s screen, reading ‘14:09 UTC’. “There you go. If you’re taking the king up on his offer of no work for a Auroran month, I expect not to be disturbed before noon at least until then.”

Yeosang snorts. “We’ll see if I last that long. The planet is interesting, but I don’t know how to act the part of a tourist. I’m too much of a scientist.”

“Are the translators handling the language okay?” Jongho asks suddenly, sliding back into view, too close to the camera. “I know they struggle with it more than most alien tongues.”

“Seems to be fine. The king and his closest aides have all assimilated Korean and English for me but I’ve needed it for the palace attendants and the people. I can still hear them speaking it since there’s a massive delay on the translators. Something about the whole string of notes having to be completed since meaning varies if it changes tonally even at the end of a ‘sentence’?” Yeosang isn’t entirely sure, he just remembers being able to hear the entire thought in native Auroran before the translator kicked in.

“Right! Auroran is so fascinating,” Jongho pipes up. “I heard that the first ambassadors tried communicating with the locals using theremins! At least until they learned Aurorans could assimilate other languages in days. Now people travel from all over the universe to watch their theater and choirs. I even heard they started performing Earth works! In this documentary I watched—”

“We get it, kid, you studied for this job,” Mingi cuts him off, rolling his eyes.

“Oh yeah, the king _insisted_ I take in some of the local entertainment this month,” Yeosang replies, ignoring Mingi’s grimace. “I’ll let you know how it is. In the meantime, I’d like to hit the market before they shut down for moonrise, so I will bother you again some time tomorrow.”

“Take care,” Mingi says, in time with Jongho’s, “Have fun!”

Yeosang closes the video feed and ditches the lab coat he habitually wears at his workstation before heading out the door.

He’s been given free rein of the place, which honestly isn’t something he’s used to. Just about every planet he’s been on has at least assigned him a liaison...essentially a glorified babysitter. At worst, he was given armed escorts who treated him like a war criminal. Here, every staff member he passes asks if they can help him in any way, but he is allowed to go off on his own. Yeosang wonders if this all ties in to what the king had said...he can’t help Aurora unless he knows her. And he can’t know her...not really, if his exploration is stunted or tainted by a third party. It’s thoughtful, really. He can get to know Aurora as she is...not the way someone else wishes him to see her.

By the time he gets to the market, the crowds have died down. He’d learned the hard way the day prior that in the early hours, the marketplace is packed with people. But now, the square is nearly empty. He almost trips when a Auroran child carelessly darts past, only to be chided by one of their parents. They apologize, and Yeosang thinks it sounds much more sincere before his in-ear translator tells him in a tinny voice exactly what had been said.

Yeosang buys a bag of salted date-like fruits, swiping his watch to pay with credits. All planets in the galactic alliance have a different currency, and exchange rates are handled via the main headquarters. Not that it matters...it’s all government money he’s spending, anyhow. The Auroran woman running the stall is the same one he recalls from the other day. She grins as she remembers him, her deep brown skin shimmering orange-gold at the curves of her cheeks and shoulders.

Yeosang ducks away with a nervous smile and a wave. He’s never been terribly personable. And surely the people here just find him interesting because he isn’t an Auroran. There aren’t many off-worlders around that he can see: only the rich and affluent can really afford to travel as far as Aurora with the way the current routes stand, and it’s the off-season regardless. In a few Auroran months, there will be plenty of humans and other beings visiting, he’s sure. It’s going to make his job a little harder, but they’re all variables in the data he’ll end up needing.

He heads back toward the palace, taking the scenic route through the water gardens. There are still people milling about...he hesitates to think of them as ‘commoners’, and simply settles on calling them ‘citizens’. There’s a trio of Aurorans picnicking by the fountains, all clearly smitten with each other. They exchange innocent kisses and feed each other sweet desserts and for a moment, Yeosang feels the encroaching, looming cloud of loneliness ebb over him before he unceremoniously shoves it back into his subconscious where he’s kept it buried for something like a decade now. He doesn’t have time for attachments, or love. His work is too important. He’d be a terrible partner as he is now; he has enough presence of mind to admit that to himself.

He must have a gloomy expression on his face, because the familiar voice that greets him sounds concerned.

“Kang Yeosang...are you well? You seem troubled. Perhaps it’s been too long since you have eaten.” It’s Key, and his expression is so worried that Yeosang feels bad. “The king and I were about to sit down to dinner. Will you join us?”

“Uh, certainly,” Yeosang replies quickly, managing a tight smile that barely meets his eyes. The kindness of the gesture doesn’t escape him, however, and he finds his sour mood leaving him as quickly as it had come.

They sit down to dinner, he and Key and the king—Jonghyun, he corrects himself—and it is just as wonderful as the previous nights. It’s still just them, with no talk of work or of politics or business. The king expresses a bit of disappointment that Yeosang hasn’t managed to go beyond the market or the gardens yet, but seems understanding. Being transplanted onto a new planet is daunting, he assumes. He’s never left Aurora. He cannot imagine just what Yeosang’s work entails, he says in a way that makes Yeosang feel both humbled and glorified.

After dessert comes, the king nearly drops his fork when an idea occurs to him. He manages to compose himself before he speaks, eloquently as ever.

“Oh! Before I forget, the palace performance troupe has just wrapped up rehearsals and are putting on their first show of the season in two moons. Please say you’ll attend.”

Yeosang blinks. The king seems so earnest, eyes expectant and hopeful. “Of course. I’ve heard so much about Auroran theater. I’d be honored to witness it in person.”

“Ah, perfect,” Jonghyun says with a wistful sigh, looking over to his consort. “Key just adores the theater. Used to perform himself...that’s how our paths first crossed.”

Yeosang smiles, sensing the nostalgia in his tone. The two of them coo at each other in Auroran for the rest of the evening, and Yeosang turns off his translator just to give them a modicum of privacy before he takes his leave a while later.

-O-

**_Aurora Mission, Day 5_ **

Two days pass and just before moonrise, Yeosang finds himself in a crowded banquet hall in the northmost corner of the palace. At one end of the room stands a large stage draped in swaths of gossamer fabric, the ceiling lined with hundreds of lanterns hung at varying lengths. Several people try to talk to him, but the king ushers him away to a more secluded area where they can enjoy the show in peace.

Key hands him a program, and he finds that he’s included with it a translation into Korean. He folds it and tucks it away before removing his translator and pocketing it. He wants to hear the performance purely in Auroran...and if he has questions, he can always consult the program later. For now, he sits, and he watches, and he listens.

The show opens with a children’s choir. There isn’t anything particularly emotional about the things they are singing...well, it sounds like singing to him, but as he understands it, that’s just how the Auroran language sounds to beings that cannot distinguish the meanings of subtle tonal shifts and drops or rises in pitch. He sneaks a peek at his program, and it tells him they’re doing a small lead up to a story being presented through dance in the performance. It reminds him a little of a pseudo-scientific biblical fairytale...‘in the beginning, the universe was formed, and within it, our beautiful planet.’ They speak of the universe as though it is an entity, but they don’t seem to assign it much agency, such as they might a deity. Yeosang feels he may be a little too ignorant of Auroran religions to really understand what’s going on entirely, and for once, he regrets not studying the planet’s culture a little more closely.

The children exit, and a line of instrumentalists enter at the very back of the stage. They begin playing a slow, melodic tune as a company of dancers glides onto the stage in front of them. They are dressed in matching clothing that perhaps might be historic, a little more flow to the sleeves and tabards than he saw commonly in the marketplace. Although each of them is wearing similar garb, one of the dancers has far more jewels sewn along the collar and shoulders of his attire, and it is clear he is meant to be noticed as the main character. Yeosang wouldn’t have had any trouble noticing him above the others: he thinks the Auroran may be the most beautiful being he’s ever seen, on any planet in the known universe. His gorgeous face holds a somewhat passive expression for now, but his features are striking. Sweet eyes, curved cheeks, a sharp jaw and full lips...the man is _stunning_. While he is staring, an additional musical accompaniment begins low in the background, much of it sounding synthetic or computerized.

The dancers move. They stand circled around some object he cannot identify, each of them holding a long sash in one hand, the other end of it connecting them all in the center at that round object. The motions of the other dancers are methodical, almost rote...but the way the main dancer moves is different, somehow. They each move in unison around the thing which centers them, but his actions are more passionate. He feels drawn to it in a way the others are not, even though it unites them all.

The entire company begins singing...rather, speaking Auroran, but it is low and somewhat indistinct, like a soft chant. And then the main dancer moves forward. When he speaks, it is crystal clear, louder than the others. His voice is beautiful. High and soft and sweet and a perfect complement to his gorgeous face. When the lantern lights hit his face just right, the natural shimmer of his Auroran skin combines with what Yeosang assumes is makeup to give a holographic effect in a kaleidoscope of colors. The music swells, the other dancers drop low, and the main dancer takes center stage alone.

The dancer speaks two languages: one, his native Auroran, sung unlike any hymn or ballad Yeosang has ever heard. The second is unspoken: the way his body moves tells a story all its own.

Yeosang doesn’t know what is being said. He _feels_ it.

Yeosang isn’t a kinesiologist, nor is he particularly familiar with dance--however, as a biologist and engineer, he has more than a fair understanding of natural movement. Nothing that the dancer is doing defies logic. The science is sound. While he is flexible, he is not unnaturally so. It is not so much what he is doing but, rather, how he does it. The elegant gesture of a hand, the delicate curve of his spine, the way his neck arches back effortlessly, or the way his shoulder drops, revealing a pale, shimmering clavicle.

He feels it through the Auroran’s words, paragraphs spoken like song as they are, and he sees it through his dance, through such carefully orchestrated movements and expressions that he could not possibly misinterpret. This dancer is a poet, a lyricist...not because of the words he sings but through his _body._ Yeosang feels the story through his line, listens as the Auroran tells him, not with words, this story of love. How it is indescribable, the feeling of no longer being alone. How this love is a vision shared, that there is no fear in the face of it. This love that shines in the darkness, that protects him.

The main dancer crosses to a far corner of the stage, as far as the swath of fabric he is holding will allow him to. The other dancers rise, and between them, that rounded object falls away, revealing a person within. He stands, taller than all the rest, clothing much more ornate and traditional. Upon his forehead are those familiar markings, those of Auroran royalty. One by one, the dancers approach and bow until their faces touch the back of his extended hand, then pirouette away. The main dancer is the last. His touch lingers, his gaze does, too...and when he moves away, it is with a sort of melancholy and regret that the others had not.

Yeosang understands now. The planet itself picks a ruler, through the collective of its people. It senses the most benevolent and altruistic of all the Aurorans, and as one, they raise them up as their monarch.

When Yeosang read of the Auroran monarchy, how the people had a voice in choosing who would rule them, he had pictured an electoral process. He could have never imagined that Aurorans possessed a collective consciousness which selected the very best of their kind to rule. But now, it is entirely clear to him.

It terrifies Yeosang just _how well_ he understands.

The king is surrounded by the dancers, now: all but one. 

That beautiful man who stands off to the side and watches with heartache upon his face. The scarves are all still attached...the dancers move in a flurry around their new king, jumping and twisting in a chaotic scene, though the king does not seem at all perturbed. The fabric falls, pooling at his feet, and in the commotion, the main dancer’s has been pulled away, too.

He dances now, alone, that scarf still wrapped around his palm. His line is fluid and graceful, limbs flowing and spine arching as though it is effortless, all curves and elegance. It’s the most alluring thing Yeosang has ever seen, until it isn’t; until he goes rigid, the epitome of control as each inch of his body moves only as ordered, not a single atom out of line. Fierce. Staccato. And then, it collapses in on itself, flows once more into that graceful state...like ice, to water, to steam, as though it is the simplest thing in all the universe to shift through each form, as though it does not defy science to so effortlessly convert oneself, remake oneself in an instant.

One leg slips beneath the other like threading a needle. He slides to the ground only to come back up without his hands ever touching the floor, as though it is no great feat. His movements slow. He looks toward the king, his view blocked by the other dancers as they dote and demand. He looks away, and his gaze does not stray toward the others again. His movements become rote, as the others had been in the beginning...as though melancholy is shackling him to the inertia of routine. He cannot break free and be his truest self again...it does not appear that he even wishes to.

As he turns, that lonely scarf swishes along the ground. A hand reaches down to take hold of it, pulling until the dancer cannot help but notice. He appears shocked when he turns to see it is the king who has approached him.

He hesitates at first, sees how all the dancers behind him move and sway, impatient for their king’s return. But he does not seem hurried; he stands, and he waits, an earnest smile upon his face.

The dancer takes his hand. Overjoyed, he and the king dance together. The others move in tandem around them, neither disturbing nor impeding them. Nothing stands between them or their love. Their dance is beautiful. For a moment, Yeosang forgets that this is simply a performance, that this is not Aurora’s king and his lover, for he already knows the two quite well. This is a historical tale, but a romance as well: the story of Aurora’s first king, and the one who loved him above all others.

Yeosang pictures himself as what he wishes he could be: a benevolent, attentive lover like the Auroran king. Someone who can manage such great responsibilities while also seeing to all the needs of the person he loves. He can’t imagine a universe where he allows that to happen, allows himself to believe that he is capable of both.

He comes back to himself when he hears the audience clapping and joins them instinctively. The king is clapping, too, staring wistfully at the stage. He shares a few short words with Key before turning to him, expectant.

“What did you think of your first Auroran theater experience, Kang Yeosang?”

“It was...beautiful. Really wonderful.” Yeosang’s tongue is like lead, and he feels as though he’s sputtering idiotically. “That main dancer was...just breathtaking. We don’t see such artists so often on Earth.”

“Oh! You liked him?” Jonghyun smiles, and there is pride there. “I’ll have to arrange for you to meet him. He’s particularly fond of off-worlders. I’m sure he’d be delighted to make your acquaintance.”

Yeosang doesn’t think much of it, just nods. He figures the performers indulge tourists quite often, taking holo-pic selcas with them for their social media, but he’s never been the type to be interested in that sort of thing. He imagines an artist would find someone like him to be incredibly boring. All numbers and formulas and work.

That night, Yeosang dreams for the first time in years. He sees himself with that beautiful dancer, as though they are lovers themselves. He is not the king. No, Jonghyun stands nearby, smiling fondly as he shoves him into the dancer’s waiting arms.

-O-

**_Aurora Mission, Day 6_ **

The next day, Yeosang goes about his usual routine. He walks the palace grounds, visits the market, sets up a few more things at his workstations and organizes a few files. He takes his meals with the king and his consort as usual, and Jonghyun mentions in passing that he has spoken to the dancer, and that he is eager to meet Yeosang. The king does not say anything about where or when, so he assumes it will be for another day.

However, when Yeosang returns to his private room, he finds that the dancer is there waiting for him.

He lies comfortably across one of the piles of pillows Yeosang hadn’t had completely removed, wearing a pale pink shirt that may as well not exist for how loose and sheer it is, the collar and shoulders dotted with coral beads and gems. He isn’t wearing his stage makeup, but regardless his face is clear and lips deep pink, cheeks shimmering like rose gold.

“Hello, Kang Yeosang. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I wanted to learn your tongue before we spoke. I also needed a name you could call me in your language,” The dancer explains. “Please, call me Wooyoung.”

Yeosang doesn’t respond. At least, not immediately--as though his brain has momentarily stopped processing. Wooyoung wonders if his name was such a strange choice to elicit that reaction.

“I understand that you enjoyed my dancing…” Wooyoung drawls, suggestive. “I thought that you might enjoy my company in private even more.”

Yeosang still doesn’t say anything, just _chokes._ And then, after a long, long pause, he _finally_ says something. “No.”

Just that, no. And again. “No… no no no, I—no.”

“Is something wrong?” Wooyoung asks, confused, since Yeosang has—thus far—failed to formulate a proper sentence.

“I’m just. I, uh. I think there’s been some misunderstanding. I mentioned to the king that I admired your dancing. I didn’t mean to give the impression that I wanted...ehm...something more,” Yeosang coughs, looking away from Wooyoung’s expectant, earnest gaze. “I wasn’t aware you were a...concubine.”

Wooyoung’s plush mouth twists up at the suggestion. “No, that isn’t the right Earth word. That would imply I am consort to my father, which I certainly am not.”

Yeosang blinks, then blinks again. 

“Wait...your father is the king?” He balks. From the betrayed look on his face, it appears he’s beginning to wonder if his impression of that respectable, benevolent man is all wrong. “Doesn’t that make you a prince? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know...attending to royal duties?”

Wooyoung’s brow furrows. “My brother chose to succeed our father, if Aurora wills it. I am free to choose my own path. And this is what I chose.”

“You _choose_ to prance around on stage and offer yourself up to foreign ambassadors on your father’s whims? You chose that,” Yeosang goads flatly, incredulous.

“Not on my...father’s whims.” Wooyoung lifts one of the pillows up to the dim lights, and the fabric glitters, woven with strands of shimmering red and gold. Everything in the palace seems to shimmer, in a way. The stone walls themselves inlaid with minerals that reflect all the light in shades of green and blue and silver. “I’m not sure how these matters are tended to on Earth, but here we are quite autonomous in our decision-making. In case you were not made aware.”

Yeosang stares down at his hands, as if searching them for answers in the lines weaving over his palms. He appears both nervous and frustrated in a way Wooyoung doesn’t understand. Like he wants to look at Wooyoung but also wishes him gone.

“My father said you wished to meet me,” Wooyoung adds, when Yeosang doesn’t respond. “And so here I am.” He allows one shoulder of his loose silks to slip down to the crook of his arm as he leans back more comfortably. “I did not expect you to be so terrified of me.”

“I’m not terrified. I’m sad for you,” is Yeosang’s reply. He refuses to make himself comfortable, it seems, hovering by the doorway, his body a lithe example of Earth Sun-warmed limbs. 

Wooyoung has always been curious about the way the Earth sun darkens human skin. About how parts of human skin can be different colors in different areas. Like plants absorbing energy from their sun. Blooming. 

There’s darker skin blooming across Yeosang’s face and around his forearms, with a bare strip where a watch comm device normally sits. He’s so _imperfect_ , asymmetrical in a way people on Aurora are not. Can not physically be. Wooyoung has his flaws. Has fat that sits at his lower back and cheeks that comes and goes depending upon how many days he’s gone without movement. But Wooyoung’s skin will never look like Yeosang’s.

Like a map of where he’s opened himself up to his Earth sun and let it in.

There is a bit of mottled reddish flesh along the lid of Yeosang’s left eye, and at his temple as well. It does not look like a scar, but rather as though some deity has painted it upon his skin like a signature.

Wooyoung finds it endearingly unique.

His own body is always changing, in some ways. The atmosphere of Aurora alters on a day-to-day basis, and it interacts with its people in sometimes subtle and sometimes very obvious ways. Wooyoung’s hair, for example, can be strands of light-reflective silver one day, and he can wake up to a head of cotton-soft pink fluff the very next day. 

But it always looks purposeful. Not like Yeosang, with heat high and pink in the plush apples of his cheeks, and dark grayish bruises beneath his eyes, and strips of sun-less skin scattered over his body.

“Why would you be sad for me?”

Yeosang squints, like it should be obvious. “Aren’t you being...offered to me?”

Wooyoung blinks his eyes slowly, trying to translate Yeosang’s words into a concept he understands. “Offered? You mean like...am I a gift?”

“More like a slave,” Yeosang corrects.

Wooyoung stares up at Yeosang. He has no understanding of this Earth word. Slave? There is no direct translation into Auroran that he’s aware of. He just shakes his head. “I’m not aware of being a slave. Is this a title, like ‘prince’?”

Yeosang scoffs and moves to sit on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, face dropped into his hands. “Of course Aurorans have no concept of slavery. What was I thinking?”

He’s been on plenty of planets with systems of slavery...some still in existence, until they were forced to adopt the conventions of the Alliance, which decidedly bans such practices. He has visited his share of planets where liaisons are meant to double as escorts for his enjoyment. He’s never indulged. The idea of it sickens him...not the idea of sex as work, so much...but the very thought that the being offering themselves to him doesn’t have the agency or ability to make that choice on their own.

“This is my occupation,” Wooyoung explains slowly, hoping he makes sense. “On Earth, surely you have positions such as these?”

“Sex work is still illegal on Earth in several countries. It’s a derisive topic,” Yeosang replies, refusing to look back up at Wooyoung, which makes Wooyoung feel like he’s talking to a brick wall. “It’s considered unsafe and...sacrilegious in a lot of places.”

“I don’t understand. Sex is part of being alive. Like eating.”

“On Earth, sex is often lumped in with those needs, but not for...money.” Yeosang adds. “To sell yourself, to buy sex...people who do that are seen as lacking morality. And a lot of people who do it, who sell their bodies...it’s not even their choice.”

“I know what morality is,” Wooyoung says, rolling his eyes. “But why should sex be amoral? Do people die on Earth because of sex? Fucked to death?” 

Yeosang releases an uncomfortable laugh, and it sounds painfully false, even to him. “Well, tragically, yes, but that’s not why. It’s just...it’s hard to explain. To most people, sex is something deeply intimate to be shared with someone you love, or someone you’re married to.”

“Ah, I’ve read about marriage. Seems more like a treaty of joining property under the law than anything moral,” Wooyoung declares spitefully, rising up to his feet and fixing his robes. “Sex is a natural urge of the body. Here on our planet it feeds our bodies and energizes us, and it is safely _and legally_ traded for monetary value or goods, just as food is both here and on your planet.”

“It’s just...taboo, is all,” Yeosang murmurs, all of that righteous indignation bleeding out of him. “Even now. It was worse, centuries ago. But the idea that a son of the king would be a...that the king would _encourage_ this kind of thing—”

Wooyoung lets out a hiss of frustration. “See, this is why you foreign ambassadors drive me mad. Always thinking that Earth is the basis on which to view the rest of the universe. Earth is just another tiny blue speck, just as Aurora is in a starmap. Your ways are no better than ours.”

“Everyone justifies their beliefs based on what they know. I’ve been to a lot of planets, but I can only look at them through the lens I was raised with,” Yeosang says. “I’ll admit to being ignorant about a lot of things. The universe is a vast and diverse place, but it’s terrifying just how often you see the same injustices your own planet has been guilty of.”

“This isn’t an injustice. Perhaps you need to throw away this Earthly logic, since it will do you little good here,” Wooyoung spits, striding to the door. “After star-rise tomorrow, I’ll come back. I have someplace to show you.”

“To show me?” Yeosang sputters, finally looking up. He’s been avoiding looking at Wooyoung this whole time, but now his eyes finally find him, standing there by the door with an indignant set to his shoulders.

“I promise not to ruin you with our loose Auroran morals,” Wooyoung taunts, yanking the door open. “But it will require some defiance of your Earth logic.”

Yeosang’s hand reaches out, but recoils quickly. “Wait! Before you go, I’m—”

Wooyoung quirks a brow and hums expectantly, like a question mark given sound.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“Ah, apologies. How very human of you. Well,” Wooyoung says, bowing his head slightly, “you’re forgiven for now. Get some sleep. Since we can’t fuck for energy, it being _amoral_ and all, sleep is the next best thing, I guess.” He flashes Yeosang his finest, princeliest smirk and lets the heavy door shut tight behind him.

Yeosang doesn’t sleep. Not a goddamn wink.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find us on twt @VermillionVamp and @likesatellitez


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